


You know, like friends do.

by Katflap (Batman_in_Lingerie)



Series: Petit [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward discussions of Robin cup fittings, Awkwardness, Dialogue Heavy, Embarrassment, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Insecurity, M/M, Micropenis, Paranoia, Penis Measuring, Self Confidence Issues, Slight OOC for the sake of comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24303574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman_in_Lingerie/pseuds/Katflap
Summary: Bruce is self conscious about a certain part of his body. Clark comforts him in a way only a true friend would.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Petit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921957
Comments: 44
Kudos: 193





	You know, like friends do.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This fic is all in the spirit of fun and crack, so please make sure to read the tags before you proceed to make sure you are down for the choo choo train of terrible jokes and weirdness this fic is going to be.
> 
> (For those concerned about the tag 'Awkward discussions of Robin cup fittings', just know, it's not really the focus of the story and is more of a lead into the main premise, which, if you've looked at the other tags and summary, you may be able to figure out just what that entails. ;) )
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :D

Bruce had been quieter than usual at the meeting today.

To be fair, it was the norm for Bruce to be concise to the point of monosyllabic, but the way he was today was nothing like his usual quiet contemplation. For one, he didn’t speak at _all_ , even when Hal said something that Clark was sure under normal circumstances would have led to an hours long digression. No, today he only gave quiet grunts of agreement or dissent, depending on what was said, and even then, Clark was the only one able to tell which kind it was based purely on its pitch. 

After they’d wrapped up, Bruce didn’t linger. He left without a word and Clark was left to deal with his ‘Bruce’ sensors going haywire as a result.

Being able to sense just how Bruce was feeling at any given time was something that came from a _lot_ of trial and error. At first, he struggled just like the rest of his colleagues. For one, Bruce with the cowl on was inexpressive, but without it, sometimes it was even worse. The blank face he wore could have been one of pure jubilation, or extreme agony and any normal person would not be able to tell you the difference. 

Clark however, could, so when Bruce walked away, leaving every other League member to put it down to another occasion of ‘Bruce being Bruce’, Clark saw that today, that wasn’t the case. 

He found him later that evening in the Batcave. He was back from patrol, sat at the computer, cowl down. He barely acknowledged Clark when he appeared beside him.

“You seemed a little off today.” Clark said. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Bruce said. There was a tone that caught Clark, one he learnt to pick up. It was indignance, as though Bruce was annoyed Clark would even think to ask him such a question. Yet, if past experiences were anything to go by, that tone meant there very much was something wrong, and Bruce was just annoyed Clark had picked up on it.

“What happened?” Clark said, turning around and leaning himself against the desk. He saw Bruce's jaw clenches as his typing on the keyboard grew louder and quicker, as though trying to block out Clark despite the man being directly in his periphery. “Bruce, come on, whatever it is-”

“Damian needed me to make adjustments to his armour.” Bruce said, in a voice so barren it was anything but. The topic must have struck a nerve, a nerve which Clark still didn’t know the placement nor name of, but hoped he would soon.

“Right.” He said, frowning. “I mean, he is growing Bruce. Teenagers sort of do that.”

“That’s not-” but Bruce cut himself off, with a sharp exhale. “Never mind, you wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t what?” Clark crossed his arms. “Look, I know I haven’t raised kids myself, but i’d have thought having raised the boys you’d be used to them growing up by now.”

“Clark.” Bruce said, turning slowly to him, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I don't have an issue with him ‘growing up.’”

“Okay.” Clark said with a nod. “Then why-”

“Because-” Bruce said, through his teeth. “I needed to make adjustments to certain _areas_ of his armour.”

Clark's frown grew. “Like his chest?”

“Like,” Bruce muttered. “His _cup_.”

It took Clark a good minute to realise what he meant by the word. For some reason, the first thing that came to Clark’s mind was why adjustments to crockery were affecting Bruce so adversely, but then, after the aforementioned minute, it clicked, and Clark let out a breathy. “ _Oh_.”

Bruce didn't speak, turning his attention back to his computer. Clark however was dealing with the horrifying mental image Bruce had provided. Damian, the teen who had threatened to end Clark’s life on multiple occasions, had a conversation with his father, Bruce, who on multiple occasions had wowed Clark with his ability to emote with as much zeal as a blank piece of paper, spoke about a matter as delicate as the need for a change in cup.

“Uh.” Clark uttered, before grimacing. He tried to school his face, lest somehow make the situation worse. “Right, so, uh, this cup you say, he needed it-”

“Bigger.” Bruce said and Clark saw his fists clench before he resumed typing once more. “Just like Dick, Jason _and_ Tim had needed them made ‘bigger’ when they were Robin.”

Clark’s mouth fell open and suddenly all the saliva within seemed to evaporate, leaving his tongue so dry the next words from him were a husky whisper. “That's, uh.” He mumbled. “I mean, that is part of growing up, Bruce. Going from a kid to a teenager, _it_ does tend to… Get bigger.”

“No, Clark.” Bruce whirled around to him, his computer thoroughly forgotten as he stood up to meet him. “They all needed them made bigger when they were _fifteen_ . Then every year, I had to readjust them. I used measurements I _thought_ would be accommodating, and still, all of them needed me to make adjustments to their armour. All. _Four_.”

“Those measurements you have must have been off then.” Clark said with a meek shrug.

With the cowl down, Clark was privy to the flicker of emotion that went across Bruce's face. Some might have said it was brief irritation, but Clark saw it for what it really was, which, to put bluntly, Clark was sure the only other way he could have achieved that expression on Bruce, other than the way he had, was to stab him in the gut and twist the knife. “I-” Bruce began. “I used the measurements of my own penis when I was their age.”

Clark tried to keep his face neutral, to not let a flicker of anything go across it that could somehow be misconstrued as anything that might cause Bruce to grab the kryptonite and throw it at him. He must have done better than he thought, as he realised he couldn't actually feel his face anymore, the muscles there having gone numb. “Oh.”

“Do you know what that's like Clark?” Bruce said, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know what it's like to be told by your fifteen year old son, that his penis is bigger than yours was at the same age?”

His face faltered for the briefest moment. “No?”

“And do you know what it's like, to have been told before that point, by all three of you adopted sons, that they too, needed to have adjustments to their cups, for the exact same reason?”

“This-” Clark said, holding up his hands. “I was not prepared for.” He said earnestly.

“Oh? Were you not?” Bruce said, crossing his arms. “You came here to interrogate me about my foul mood, and you're shocked that I answered your queries honestly?”

“No…'' Clark said, wincing. “I wanted to know, I just didn't think… _this_ … was the reason.”

“What, you wanted something more profound than this? Something about how I'm questioning my place in the universe perhaps?”

“No, I just-” Clark shook his head. “I don't know what I wanted. I guess I wanted something that I could help you with, but I can't, really... _help_ you with this.”

“You can actually.” Bruce said briskly. “You could show me yours.”

“You-” Clark balked. “You want me to show you… _my_ penis?”

“No Clark.” Bruce said with a roll of the eyes. “ _Another_ man's penis. Of course yours.”

“But...” Clark said slowly. “Then you would have seen my penis.”

“Correct.”

“That seems a little…” He made a face. “Weird.”

“How is it weird, exactly? You know it's only a modern stigma that nudity is seen as anything other than natural. People act like nipples and genitals are vile and need to be hidden at all costs, and yet, they should be celebrated as being part of our bodies as much as our skin or hair.”

“Then.” Clark said, raising a brow. “Can I see yours?”

Bruce didn’t even pause. “No.”

Clark blew a raspberry. “What was all the crap you just spat out, then?”

  
  


“I was _lying_ .” Bruce fumed. “I'm sure you have nothing to be ashamed of, but I-” but Bruce cut himself off, a very real flutter of embarrassment on his features. “ _Not_ that i'm ashamed of my-”

“Bruce.” Clark said, wincing. “It’s plainly obvious you're embarrassed about your size, if this is-”

“No.” Bruce bit back. “I don't have an issue with my size, it's that…” he swallowed. “All my children _exceeded_ my size when they were still teenagers.”

“Right.” Clark said with a nod. “And it's okay to be envious of that, but i'm sure your dick is fine Bruce, even if it is on the smaller side.”

“It's not just-” Bruce bit his lip. “Small. The name they’ve given what I have is not what I would describe as flattering.”

Clark's brows furrowed together. “And that is?”

Bruce’s eyes met him for a brief, awful, moment. “I have a micropenis.” 

Clark let out a noise which he hoped would be heard as a simple exhale, but if the death stare sent his way was anything to go from, it sounds a little more suspect than that. He cleared his throat. “That's not… _that_ bad.”

“It's not?” Bruce mocked. “Oh, silly me, I must have misread the part about my condition that said my penis is smaller than ninety nine percent of men on the planet.”

  
  


“Yeah, but.” Clark began. “Just because it's a ‘micro’ one, doesn't mean it's not a good penis, you know? Like, some women even say they prefer having sex with men who have smaller penises ‘cause they’re apparently better at it.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t know that.”

  
  


“You-” Clark narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t?”

“I haven't had sex.” Bruce said crisply. 

“But-” Clark's mouth fell open. "Damian?"

Bruce shook his head. "Talia took my DNA without my knowledge. And as far as I know, it was nothing more than a vial of my blood, but from that she was able to conceive Damian in an artificial womb."

That opened up a whole can of worms Clark would just have to leave for the moment. He was still battling with the flurry of conflicted thoughts that the ideas of ‘Bruce’ and ‘virginity’ caused within himself. “What about all the models? And the beautiful women? Bruce, they _rave_ about you in bed." He would know, he’d read the articles. 

“You think a beautiful woman ending up in my bed would tell her friends anything _other_ than that we had sex?” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Please. I don’t sleep with anyone, even to keep up appearances. If it comes to it, I lead them to the bedroom, pretend to get drunk off of champagne, and then pass out. When they leave, they tell their friends whatever they want, and no matter what they say, I end up with my persona intact.” 

“But why?” Clark asked. “Is it just because you've never wanted to? Or is it because you don’t want to show people... _it_?”

“I'm not ashamed of my penis.”

“Then how about this? I'll show you mine, but _only_ if you show me yours.”

He saw Bruce’s mouth twinge, saw the way he very nearly said ‘no, fuck off’, but instead opened it and let out a quiet. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” Clark said, surprisingly excited by the turn of events, though he could not pinpoint the reason as to why that was the case at the present moment. In fact, the more the thought stuck in his mind, the more he realised he _really_ didn’t have time to unpack what that actually meant.

“You have to show me yours first, though.” Bruce said curtly.

“Uh, no.” Clark scoffed. “I know if I do, and for whatever reason you don't like what you see, you're not going to show me yours.'' Clark crossed his arms. “No, the only solution I see is for us to show them at the same time.” 

Bruce huffed. “I know you haven't stated this, but I do suspect mind reading is one of your powers you’re not telling us about.”

“Nope, i’m just good at reading _you_.'' Clark said, before realising what he said, and promptly choking on his breath. “Right, so, penis time?”

Bruce fidgeted with his belt. “At the same time?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.”

“Here goes.”

“Removing pants now.”

“Uh huh.”

“Lowering.”

“Same.”

“They are almost off.”

“Likewise.”

“Clark?”

“Yup.”

  
  


“You know i'm lying right?”

“Yup.”

“You know I haven't moved them a single centimeter?”

“I can see that, yes.”

“Nor have you, for that matter.”

“I can also see that, yes.” 

Bruce huffed loudly. “Clark, can we please just do this and get it over with?”

“I'm trying!” Clark said, throwing his hands up. “This is just something I did not think we would be doing today.”

“Just imagine we’re at a urinal. Men take their penises out in front of each other all the time at urinals.”

“But Bruce, we’re not _at_ one, my brain can't just imagine a urinal. What if I then need to pee? Did you think of that? Me thinking of a urinal, dick out, at your computer. Just _think_ about what could happen.”

  
  


“Do you want to go to one?” Bruce said eyes wide with something close to mania. “I have a bathroom down here Clark, and I will drag you to a urinal if I have to.”

“No, I'll just-” he shook his head, letting out a breath. “I'll do it here.”

“Right.” Bruce said, setting his hands back on his belt. “Here goes.” 

“Close your eyes and do it, maybe?” Clark said, his voice hitching. “We both close them, lower pants, and then open them again. Would that be easier?”

“How will I know if you lower them, then?” Bruce glowered.

“You’re just going to have to trust me, just like i'm going to have to trust you, even though every part of me is telling me you're going to chicken out.”

“I don't ‘chicken’ out of things.”

“Then prove me wrong.” 

He did. Even with Clark’s eyes closed, he could hear Bruce lowering his pants right along with him. Then they stood in silence, dicks out with neither apparently taking in the sight due to the fact both sets of eyes were still firmly closed. Clark didn’t want to open them, worried that what he was about to see might cause something to come from his mouth that would destroy whatever Bruce and himself actually had. _Friendship? Sure, that's close._ He thought. _Friends must do this sort of stuff all the time._

Eventually, Bruce must have opened his eyes as Clark heard the inhalation he made. Sharp and quick, before he swallowed thickly. Clark barely opened one eye, taking in the sight that was Bruce's face.

If the previous expression was one that someone might achieve by stabbing Bruce, this one could be achieved by literally killing him or by showing him another man's penis, apparently.

“It's not that big, Bruce.” Clark said, still squinting at him through his eyes lashes. “You don't-”

“Open your eyes.” Bruce mumbled.

He did, fully this time, and when Clark’s eyes still didn't flick downwards, Bruce sent him a withering stare. “Just _look_ already.” 

Clark did. Though at first, he struggled to see what he was looking at. He _almost_ said words that he was sure would have led to his death, namely asking _where_ exactly he needed to be looking, but eventually he saw Bruce's penis. It’s head tucked in tight by his testicles, so close that Clark couldn't actually see the shaft. “Oh.” He said, when no other words came to him. “It’s-”

“Small? Yes. Microscopic? Yes. Tiny-”

“Cute.” Clark let out

Bruce's face grew red, then purple, then some other colour that Clark was sure no human should ever turn. “ _Cute_?”

“Well, I mean.” Clark said, going for a friendly laugh and then ended up sounding far too hoarse. “It is- it's like, I don't know. I guess I don't think it’s _bad_ , I think it's-”

  
  


“Cute.” Bruce repeated, blandly.

“Yeah.” Clark said, looking at it again. “Is that bad? You know most people would see cute as a compliment if applied to any other part of the body.”

“This isn’t ‘any other part of the body’. This is a penis, and a penis should-” Bruce clenched his jaw. “A penis should look like _that_!” He said, flicking his wrist towards Clark's crotch.

Clark looked down at himself, but failed to acknowledge his penis as anything other than his own penis. He regarded it in much the same way one would a close friend or a pleasant looking stranger on the train, with an easy smile and quiet thought of appreciation. He looked back up to Bruce. “Look, I get what you're saying, but no two penises are the same and whilst ‘ninety nine’ percent of people might not have a ‘micro’ one. That doesn’t include the people who have small ones, or medium ones, or bent ones. Dicks are dicks, Bruce. You can’t measure yours to someone else's.”

“Easy for you to say.” He mumbled. “How many inches is it?”

Clark frowned. “I never checked, I think it's-” he looked down, bringing his hands to it and lifting it up slightly. “Like, six? Maybe?”

“Wonderful. Everyone has a larger penis than me. You. The boys. My son. This is just great.”

“I mean, maybe you should be proud about Damian’s? He is your son after all, so somewhere in you was the gene for that, it just-” He could feel himself cringing. “Skipped a generation.”

“But _why_ ?” Bruce let out, his voice sharp. He brought his hands up into fists by his head. “Why did it? Why couldn’t the gene that said ‘decent penis size’ go to both of us? Why did I get shafted when my son didn’t? Why did I get the _cute_ penis?”

“I thought you said you weren’t ashamed of it!” Clark couldn’t help but yell. 

Bruce’s voice grew louder. “And I really thought by now you’d be able to tell when i'm _lying_.” 

“Well, apparently not!” Clark shouted. “I mean it, Bruce, I think your penis is cute and you don't need to be ashamed of it. I would totally suck-”

All at once, the room went from one of volatile energy to being so still Clark could hear the flapping of bat wings far off in the catacombs beneath them. Bruce's face was as expressive as he’d ever seen it, and that expression was simply shock. Shock so profound it looked like Bruce had never and would never experience it to the same extent ever again. “What.”

“What?”

“I think my ‘ _what_ ’ trumps yours. So what did you mean by that?”

“I’m sort of drawing a blank here, Bruce. I can’t actually remember the past thirty seconds.”

“You-” Bruce took a breath. “You said you ‘would totally suck’ and then you stopped! What the hell was the rest of that sentence?”

“I-” Perhaps Clark should have unpacked those feelings whilst he had the chance and not now, when there was no hope in hell of packing them back up and letting them all out again in a more eloquent manner. No, it hit him with great clarity that he really did mean what he almost said. “I guess, I was just going to say that if you were that way inclined, I would take great pleasure in… giving _you_ pleasure.”

“You’re…” Bruce raised a brow. “Serious?”

“Yes.” Clark said.

“This is…” Bruce paused, frowning. “Weird.”

“Oh, _this_ is weird?” Clark said, rolling his eyes. “When we were just showing each other our dicks, it was totally fine, but now that i've said I wouldn't mind sucking it, you think it's _weird_.”

“Well, yes!” Bruce hissed. “Viewing a penis and saying you would perform feliatio on it are two very different things!”

Clark made a face. “Who still says ‘fellatio’?”

Bruce’s eyes leveled on his. “Clark, i’m going to murder you.”

“I love that _that_ was your tipping point.” Clark said with a poorly contained smile. “All the talk of dick sucking, nothing. But the minute I poke fun at your old man lingo.” Clark clapped his hands together. “Bam. Death threats.” 

“You are not doing anything to better your position.”

  
  


“I think the position I'm in is great. Honestly, you saying you’re going to kill me is not the worst way this could have gone.” 

That caused a flicker of a smile on Bruce's lips. “What is the worst way it could have gone?”

“Well, you could have actually killed me instead of just saying you would.” Clark shrugged a shoulder. “As far as i'm concerned the fact i'm still breathing, is a win.”

“I don't know how long that will last for.” Bruce said, crossing his arms. “I might just kill you yet.”

“Look, I get it. This is all weird as hell, so-” Clark gestured at him. “What I am saying is, this whole thing can't really get any weirder, right? So if we did do something crazy, it's not like it's going to become _too_ much because we’ve already hit the ceiling of weird.” 

Bruce eyed him warily. “You’re actually serious about this?”

“I mean, why not? We’ve already stepped beyond the category of ‘just friends’.”

“And what category have we now entered, exactly?”

“Hell if I know, depends on how well I suck your dick, I guess.” 

Before he’d even said anything, Clark could see Bruce's thoughts on the matter. He could see it in the way he stood up slightly straighter, jutting his jaw out as though in defiance. Everything should have been telling Clark that this was a no go, and yet, because of that tiny flicker in Bruce's eyes, he knew that wasn't the case. “You better wow me, Kent.” He muttered as he turned from him, and walked the few steps back to his chair, falling down into it.

Now that Clark was given permission, he was very suddenly doubting himself. He'd never actually sucked a dick before, nor touched another man's dick for that matter. In fact, before this moment the only man he’d ever thought about in a sexual context was Tom Selleck, and he definitely didn't have time to unpack what _that_ said about him right now. 

Despite all the whirling of thoughts, the one thing that stuck with Clark was that he couldn’t wait to feel Bruce in his mouth.

He got onto his knees before Bruce, and as he sat and stared, he could see Bruce fidget. His posture showed how uncomfortable he was with Clark’s gawping, and yet, Clark wanted to take it all in. Up close he could see slightly more of the shaft, and it took a moment for him to realise why. Bruce was getting hard. He felt his own cock twitch. “You ready?” Clark said with a grin.

“Of course, just-” he waved his hand down at Clark. “Do it.”

His cheeks were aflame as he looked down at him, and Clark's smile grew. “Say please.” He said sweetly.

“What?” Bruce gawped. “ _You're_ the one who offered, i'm just-”

Clark leant forward ever so slightly, resting his chin on the seat of the chair between Bruce's knees. “Yeah, but, I want to know you want this...”

“I-” Bruce swallowed, and Clark's eyes went between him and his rapidly hardening cock. “Yes, I want this. Please.”

  
  


“Okay.” Clark whispered as he came forward. He stuck his tongue out and rested the flat of it across the whole of Bruce's cock, pressing it down before slowly swiping it upwards. He felt Bruce jolt, a barely contained moan erupting from him. When Clark pulled back, he saw his cock in its entirety, erect and straining. All two inches of it.

Clark relished the noises spilling out of Bruce as he took him wholly in his mouth, running his tongue around his cock, and every so often letting the flat of it rest against his head before humming ever so slightly. He was winging it, _big time_ , but somehow knowing that Bruce had _zero_ frame of reference, was a massive relief. He could be terrible, and Bruce would still think it was the best blow job he’d ever had on account of never actually having one before. Every noise and twitch of Bruce's body may as well be a stroke to his metaphorical ego, as well as another part of himself.

He couldn't actually remember when his hand found his cock, nor when he started to stroke himself as Bruce panted above him. He found a rhythm and fell into it, his tongue swiping and his lips sucking as his hand kept stroking. He soon felt Bruce’s hands in his hair, gripping it and tugging as a stream of noises fell from his mouth, all some variation of the words ‘yes’ and literally every swear word going. Before Clark knew it, he felt something hit his tongue, enveloping his taste buds.

It wasn’t even a moment after he'd felt Bruce cum, that he shuddered with his own orgasm. He pulled back slowly, letting out a breath. He closed his lips and let the taste of Bruce move around his mouth before he swallowed. He couldn't help but stare up at Bruce, at his flushed face, and bitten lips and smile. “Was that okay?”

“It was-” Bruce looked away. Taking a few breaths. “Sufficient.”

“Honestly, that’s all I could ask for.'' Clark said, standing up, and trying not to accidentally stand in the puddle of his own cum on the floor. 

It was at that moment that the haze of weirdness began to dissipate, and Clark was left with the pile of worms that was his and Bruce’s relationship in the aftermath. Like a pile of worms, it was wiggly and confusing, and no matter how hard you tried to pinpoint and address each worm, it was only a matter of time before it wiggled away and you were back at square one, staring at a pile of worms.

“So,” he said, looking at Bruce, despite the man's best efforts to avoid looking back at him.

Bruce gingerly began the task of pulling up his pants. “Look.” He muttered. “I don't know what _this_ is,'' he gestured between them as he stood. “I don't know if you want to pretend it never happened, or if your performance of fela-” he cut himself off with a sharp sign. “You're giving me a ‘blow job’ was just idle curiosity on your part, or if for some reason you actually wanted to-” He cut himself off, swallowing thickly.

“I mean.” Clark said, going to pull his own pants up. “That's the thing Bruce, i’d be happy to take this further, but it's up to you.”

“Really?” Bruce winced. “I’m terrible at relationships. No one likes me.”

“I like you.” Clark said with a smile.

“Correction, no one who matters likes me.”

Clark made a face. “Maybe that’s because _i'm_ the only one who can tell you're joking when you say things like that.”

“Who said I was joking, I'm being a hundred percent serious here.”

  
  


“No you’re not, you're _lying_.” Clark quipped, stepping up to Bruce until they were so close he could smell his aftershave. “So I'll repeat what I said, I like you, and I wouldn’t mind seeing this go further if you did too.”

Bruce looked at him, and that mask of impassiveness slipped in favour of an impish smile. “I get the feeling you're going to regret saying that...” He closed the last few centimetres between them, and pressed his lips against Clark’s. 

“We’ll have to see about that.” Clark whispered against him.

  
  


\---

  
  


Across the cave, in an alcove hidden in and amongst the rocks and crevices, Dick and Jason crouched beside each other, both faces devoid of colour. “This is what we get for visiting the cave without warning Bruce first…” Jason muttered.

“Never speak of this again?” Dick whispered.

Jason nodded solemnly. “Never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well there we have it! 
> 
> This idea came to me late one night, and I just had to run with it for obvious reasons. XD
> 
> Those of you who are perhaps more logical, may wonder why Bruce ever bothered to use his own measurements considering the very obvious fact they'd be too small and instead just use averages 'measurements' for the Robin cups, but for the sake of this story, I decided to go slightly OOC route for Bruce and have him use his own because its like, 400 times funnier.


End file.
